


Trial by Combat

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Loki (Marvel), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gladiator style combat, Kissing, Loki (Marvel) Feels, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protective Loki (Marvel), Protective Tony Stark, fight to the death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Loki isn’t particularly thrilled to be walking into a fight to the death, but with Anthony’s life depending on the outcome, he really doesn’t have another choice. In order to save the man that he loves, Loki is more than willing to put his own life on the line– even if he’s sure that Anthony doesn’t love him back.





	Trial by Combat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [STARSdidathing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/STARSdidathing/gifts).



> This is usually where I would lay blame but I quite enjoyed writing this one so, you know. Thanks, STARS, I guess. (You’re still a menace though ❤︎)  
>   
> STARS’ original idea:  
>  _Can you imagine, Loki entering a "fight to the death" to win Tony? Like, maybe it's revengers or something. And Loki entering the ring with fire in his eyes. He's going to win captured Tony back._  
>   
> 

Loki’s palms felt slick with sweat, and he drew a deep breath in an effort to calm his racing heart. Through the heavy doors in front of him he could hear the crowd surge, and he adjusted his grip on his dagger, recognising that it would not be long before the doors would swing open and he would be expected to step out into the arena.

The guards who had been sent to attend him had laughed when he’d chosen the dagger as his weapon, such a tiny blade when he would be facing the greatest warrior on this god-forsaken planet. But the dagger was what he knew best, and he would not want to face any enemy with a weapon he was not already proficient with.

Not when the fight was to the death.

It should have been Thor, standing here– Thor, who had never lost a fight in his life, who could take to any weapon like it was a second limb, imbuing it with lightning to come crashing down into the field and turn all of his enemies to dust.

In fact, any of the Revengers would have been a superior choice. Hulk would be able to smash any opponent to dust without breaking a sweat, and Valkyrie was capable of defeating any warrior in any universe in hand to hand combat.

Loki, though– well, he was used to fighting from the shadows, hiding and feigning until the time was right to strike. Fighting with only a single weapon in a bright arena under the gaze of hundreds of bloodthirsty spectators was _not_ his way, and when he thought about what, about _who_ was relying on his success, he felt sick to his stomach.

There was no choice. Loki _had_ to fight, because if he didn’t—

Or if he _lost—_

Then Anthony would be declared guilty, and he would be executed in a slow and painful manner.

It shouldn’t have been this way. Their visit to the planet of Laskara was supposed to have just been a simple, routine stop, a collection of supplies that would take advantage of a good currency exchange rate, good enough to risk the harsh rule of law. But a series of truly unfortunate events had led to Loki being forced to enter an arena as little more than a gladiator for the Laskarians’ sick amusement, and just the thought of how it had all come about had Loki gritting his teeth with rage.

It was really, truly unfortunate that Thor and Loki had been recognised in the market– they had only come to Laskara a very few times in their youth, and their last visit had not been for the past several centuries. But one of the merchants selling their wares had spent many a year on Vanaheim, and word of their presence spread quickly from there until it had reached the ears of the Emperor. And as the only remnants of Asgard’s legendary royal family, Thor and Loki had been invited to dine with their friends at the palace.

Prior to the meeting, Thor had spent a solid twenty minutes lecturing Loki on why it was important to behave, since the laws on Laskara really were rather harsh. They couldn’t afford an upset, as they were planning to leave as soon as they could, hopefully without insulting anyone so that they may one day return and take advantage of the benefits of Laskarian trade once again. But of course, Thor should have realised that Loki was not the only member of their party capable of derailing a formal dinner with only a couple of words.

When they arrived at the palace, Loki kept his promises to Thor and the meal was generally incredibly boring. Things had been going well, mostly, until Anthony had made a comment that the food they had been served could have been improved with a dash of paprika.

Of course, he was not to know that the Emperor was deathly allergic to paprika and that his suggestion would be considered an assassination attempt.

Anthony had been placed under arrest right then and there, amidst much yelling on Thor and Valkyrie’s parts, attempts of negotiation on Banner’s, and not so subtle threats on Loki’s. But under the law, Anthony would be given a trial, and would be permitted one lawyer as designated by his team.

The Revengers had decided on Loki, due to the fact that between them he was both the most well-spoken and the most familiar with legal proceedings. The others were ordered politely to wait on their ship, and Loki was left to fight for Anthony’s life alone. He tried every trick he could without making things worse but despite his best efforts, it quickly became clear that the court was not willing to listen to a foreigner and that there was no hope for appeal. When all the evidence was stacking up and Anthony was a mere three words from being sentenced to death, Loki had done the only thing he could.

To demand a trial by combat as Anthony’s lawyer meant that Loki was volunteering himself as Anthony’s champion. There would be no recourse, no opportunity to switch with someone else. Loki would fight, or it would be deemed that the Fates had decided in the court’s favour and Anthony’s life would be forfeit.

The rules were simple– the champions may wear their own armour, and choose one single weapon from a rack to bring into the ring. The first to die would lose both the fight and the case. In other words– if Loki fell, then Anthony would fall with him.  

It might have been poetic, having their lives tied together in such a way, if the entire circus of events had not been so utterly ludicrous and had not put Anthony’s life on the line. The very thought left Loki terrified, because during their time as Revengers he had come to care for the mortal far more than he should.

If he were smarter, Loki might have left and run as far away as he could. But he had become lost for Anthony long ago, and he could not have turned away now if he tried.

The sound of the crowd roaring once again snapped the scene around him back into focus, and he watched with bated breath as the doors before him began to creak open.

Closing his eyes and taking a fortifying breath, Loki steadied his thoughts, focusing his mind.

_Anthony. I am doing this for Anthony._

And when he heard the guards usher him forward, he held his head high and took the necessary steps out into the sunlight.

The arena was large and oval-shaped, the ground little more than dry, hard-packed dirt, light yellow and dusty and gusting up in billows as Loki walked. The stands were high but not quite high enough to block the sun, and the light gleamed off the massive axe of the single creature on the other side of the ground. But Loki took very little notice of him at first, his gaze panning instead over the writhing crowd, skimming across shouting faces and waving arms until it came to rest on the concrete platform standing fifteen feet off the ground. The Emperor was playing the crowd, his arms wide as he made some announcement. He was surrounded by his guards and his family, all of the imperial sons and daughters dressed in bright colours and glittering jewels. But all the more riveting, standing off to the side of the platform with his wrists and ankles bound in chains, was Anthony.

Loki tuned out the noise as their eyes met across the wide space, letting Anthony’s terrified expression fuel his determination. He could see the way that Anthony’s hands were tugging against the chains, and his gaze was desperate as he stared down to the arena. And as he watched, Loki could see the mortal’s lips moving, almost as if he were uttering a final prayer.

Unlikely. Anthony worshipped no deity, so there was nothing and no one that he would pray to.

A sudden shift of sound nearly made Loki flinch.

“Today we are here to determine the integrity of this human, Tony Stark. May the fates decide whether he is innocent or guilty of his crime,” the Emperor announced. “For the crown, we have the greatest warrior in all of Laskara, the Undefeated Clemp!” He paused for the cheering of the crowd as they urged on their favourite fighter, but only waited a few seconds before continuing to speak. “And fighting for Tony Stark is Prince Loki of Asgard! May the fates be good. Champions, take your positions!”

Loki finally dragged his gaze from Anthony and began to inspect his opponent. The Undefeated Clemp was of a similar shape to an Asgardian or Midgardian, but only so far as the number and general shape of his limbs. His skin was grey and lumpy, and his muscles bulged wide enough to have made the Hulk jealous. His teeth were large and black, and they seemed to eat at the sunlight as Clemp snarled across the arena. His armour was sparse, but his skin looked thick, and his battle axe had a reach that would be difficult to squeeze inside of. Just as Loki had predicted, he was exactly the kind of opponent that Thor would once have revelled in, and the kind that Loki would always attempt to avoid at all costs.

But, he could do this. For Anthony, Loki knew that he would be able to face down anything. An eight-foot creature with a clearly terrible skin care routine was nothing in the face of what Loki stood to lose.

“Begin!”

Loki’s opponent immediately began to charge, wasting no time with swinging his axe as he crossed the fifty-yard stretch in a couple of bounds. Loki held his ground until the very last moment, leaving it so fine that he felt the gush of air over his cheek as he danced to the left. It was a tactic he had used on larger opponents many times in the past, and he was hoping it would result in Clemp losing his balance– but there was no such luck. The warrior merely continued with his swing until the momentum of the axe pulled him all the way around, executing a perfect one-eighty before running straight at Loki once again.

It very quickly became clear that while the Undefeated Clemp was big and brutish, he was still fast, and it was terribly easy to see how he had managed to hold on to his title for so very long. He really was suited to this kind of fight, on flat ground and in bright lighting, able to charge and swing and _lunge_ and leaving Loki no time at all to do anything other than dodge.

Loki was barely able to keep out of the way, using every ounce of his agility. His muscles screamed as he spun on the spot and leapt over a low swipe, barely sticking the landing only to duck as Clemp’s axe came down once again from above.

It was exhausting and enraging and _frustrating_ because Loki knew that if he could get inside the axe’s reach, then he could finish the fight in a single move. But with nowhere to hide, no way to distract, Loki had nothing up his sleeve that he could use. He might have a chance if he threw his weapon and struck one of Clemp’s weak spots, but it would have to be a perfect shot, and with Clemp’s speed it was not something Loki was willing to risk.

In the end, it didn’t take as much as it should have. One mistimed jump, one missed swing, and Loki went crashing to the ground at Clemp’s feet. The axe was already on its way back, and Loki had nowhere to go. Desperate, he grabbed a handful of the dry dirt and flung it at Clemp’s eyes, hoping to at least gain enough time to roll away—

Clemp roared in pain but it only seemed to make him angry, and his axe swung up and over his head, giving Loki a truly terrible view of Clemp’s thick armpit hairs. The crowd was cheering louder than ever and through the din, Loki thought he heard a familiar voice cry his name. Loki didn’t have time to move, he was a fraction of a moment from being cleft in two, and—

And it didn’t really matter, at least, not in terms of his own life. All he could think about was that he had _failed_ , that he wasn’t good enough, that Anthony would suffer and that it would be _all his fault_ —

The axe began to fall—

His eyes widened—

The crowd cheered—

A surge of _desperation_ —

And then Loki was standing on the other side of the arena, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, both hands clutching his dagger so tightly that his knuckles were pure white.

The arena fell silent as Clemp tugged his heavy axe from the ground, staring at it with a look of complete befuddlement.

Realising what he had done, Loki braced himself and waited for the outcry, for the accusations that he was cheating, that he should be disqualified on the basis of breaking the one, single rule.

_Only one single weapon._

But a moment later there was a surge of energy as every being in the arena leapt to their feet, and it took Loki only a moment to realise that they weren’t screaming for his head– they were screaming in _excitement._ After all, Laskara wasn’t Asgard, and Loki’s seiðr was not a weapon– it was simply part of who he was, just as Clemp’s strength and speed were a part of him. Loki was more than welcome to use it, so long as it provided entertainment—

And _oh_ , but that was something Loki knew he could manage.

Slowly, he straightened his posture, a smirk painting its way across his lips as he realised just exactly what he was allowed to do.

The advantage had finally fallen into his court– and now, Loki knew that he could _win_.

“It’s almost a shame, really,” Loki called out, his smirk widening as he took a more threatening stance. “They’re going to need to think of a new name for your headstone.”

The taunt caught Clemp’s attention, and he finally turned and realised what had happened. But for once, he was far too slow. In a single sharp movement Loki raised his arms, lifting a cloying layer of yellow dust into the air, blanketing the arena and finally giving him somewhere to hide. With a familiar shift of his energy he stepped in two different directions at once, then three, then _four_ , his doubles splitting off to circle around Clemp while Loki watched on. He could hear the clash of axe against dirt as the weapon cut straight through the illusions, doing no damage and tearing frustrated growls from Clemp’s throat.

Distraction set, Loki finally ran forward himself, his dagger primed and ready. The dirt in the air swirled around him into a concentrated spiral before shooting straight for Clemp’s eyes, and as the axe swung wildly for the last of the doubles, Loki jumped from a few yards out and landed hard with his knees jamming into Clemp’s shoulder blades—

Clemp howled, but it was too late—

For as he landed Loki slammed his arm down and sideways, and the sharp point of his dagger plunged straight into the unprotected skin at Clemp’s throat.

Blue-black blood spurted at Loki’s fingers, and he pushed off the creature’s back to land on the ground. He didn’t bother to retrieve the blade. It had been adequate, but he had no further use for it.

The roar of the crowd became deafening, burning in Loki’s ears as he watched Clemp’s lifeless body slump to the ground. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing, his breaths coming in harsh pants as the reality of what had just happened sunk into his bones.

He had won.

Anthony was _free_.

There was hardly a thought in his mind as he backed away from the corpse of his opponent, his steps quickening as he turned and raced for the edge of the arena. He pushed off the ground as he grew close, vaulting high enough to slip over the wall and into the crowd, ignoring the cries of the spectators he ran past as he let his seiðr his lift his next leap higher still, landing soft-kneed on the concrete platform.

The Emperor was complaining loudly and a guard tried to get in Loki’s way, but he barely took any notice, shoving him to the side with less than a thought. He made a beeline for the only one who could hold his attention, and was cradling Anthony’s face between his hands before he even realised he had raised them. Manacles fell away in a shimmer of green and Anthony’s hands came to rest on Loki’s waist, and Anthony was there, in his arms, free and _safe—_

Aching with adrenaline and the overwhelming crush of relief, Loki leaned in and pressed his lips to Anthony’s, needing to be closer to feel that he was _alive_.

And for one, blinding moment, Loki was kissing Anthony and Anthony was kissing him back. It was perfection and torment and euphoria all rolled into one, it was beauty and agony and everything Loki had ever dreamed it would be. He lost himself in the sensations of Anthony pressing against him, in the joy of being alive, of being alive _together_ , and knowing that they would get back to the Revengers’ ship, and—

And nothing. Because while Loki may yearn for Anthony’s touch, they weren’t together, Anthony did not even desire Loki in that way. Never had, and never would.

Panic clutched at Loki’s heart and he immediately broke their embrace, pulling away in a violent jerk that caused Anthony to gasp and reflexively grab at Loki’s armoured coat, likely in need of balance.

“Loki,” Anthony gasped, and Loki stared at him in _horror_.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash. “I’m—”

He was cut off by a loud _bang_ , and turned to see that the guards were hammering away at the bright green bubble that he must have instinctively raised around himself and Anthony. By the court’s ruling Anthony was free, but Loki didn’t doubt that they’d somehow now managed to break twenty more of the stringent laws. So, before another unfortunate event put Anthony at risk, Loki gathered his power and skywalked them as far away as he could in his flustered state.

Anthony stumbled at the landing and Loki steadied him with hands on his shoulders, but let go the moment the mortal had found his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Loki said again, feeling miserable and still with that lingering shadow of horror catching on every heartbeat. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anthony said, speaking distractedly as he looked around them with wide eyes. “Where even are we?”

Loki went to answer, but paused when he realised that actually– he wasn’t sure, either.

They were standing on lush green grass, in the middle of a copse of trees that shone with the bright orange and gold of autumn. Loki could hear the calming, quiet rush of a gurgling stream nearby, and the sunlight filtered down through the branches to glitter on drops of dew and fallen pebbles, giving the scene an ethereal glow. It was beautiful, but Loki found the beauty to be bittersweet when placed next to the ache in his chest.

“Alfheim, I believe,” he said softly, his eyes catching on the shape of a few trees that looked familiar, but were far larger than when he had last seen them. “I must have taken us further than I expected,” he realised. Well, he had been panicking. “Do not worry, I will be able to return us to the others.”

Anthony shook his head. “I’m not worried, I told you—”

“Anthony, about what happened,” Loki cut in, not wanting it to stay up in the air, wanting to just get it over with so that he could begin his attempt to salvage as much of their friendship as he could. “I’m sorry—”

“ _Loki_ ,” Anthony groaned, and Loki drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t—”

“Yes,” Loki said, not wanting to listen when every word was a cut into his very soul. He _knew_ Anthony didn’t feel the same way, he didn’t need to hear it said aloud. “I know, I _know_ , and I’m so sorry—”

“Come _on_ , Loki, I told you that I don’t care about the long distance teleport,” Anthony pressed. “For god’s sake, just shut up, will you?”

Loki flinched, and was about to apologise again– _I know, I’m sorry, I do nothing right—_

But then Anthony grabbed the lapels of Loki’s coat and pulled him down, pressing their lips together in a bruising kiss.

For a moment, Loki was frozen, as unable to move as one of the trees in their little copse. He could feel Anthony’s warm lips moving against his own, and Anthony’s tongue running gently over the seam of his mouth, and Loki wanted nothing more than to respond. Oh, how he _wanted_ , but… he didn’t quite understand.

Loki had wanted to kiss Anthony like this for years, but Anthony didn’t want the same.

…Didn’t he?

Before Loki had a solid answer to that question, Anthony was pulling away—

And that broke through Loki’s confusion faster than anything else could, and he followed the movement to bring their lips back together once more. Loki’s arms wrapped around Anthony’s waist to drag him close, drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he kissed Anthony the way that he’d always wished he could, the way that he should have a moment before. Anthony pressed up into it with a delighted moan, one hand raking through Loki’s hair while the other slid down over his shoulders.

It was several long moments of bliss before Anthony had to pull away to breathe, and Loki stared down at his face in perfect rapture.

“Anthony,” he breathed. “You _wanted_ me to kiss you.”

“Of course I did,” Anthony whispered, leaning up just enough to brush their lips together once more. “I still do. Fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss you for far too long, Lokes. Please don’t stop.”

Loki laughed, a bright, real thing that came from simple happiness and warmed him from the inside out. And then it was his turn to lean down and press their smiles together, relishing in the simple feeling that _Anthony wanted him back_.

It was strange, that– Loki thought he knew Anthony better than anyone else, better even than Banner, who had known him the longest. Yet somehow, Loki had managed to miss _this_ , had been blind to the fact that that his affections were returned. But he knew now, and now that he did, he would never let Anthony go.

So Loki held him close and kissed him like he was the most precious being in all the Nine, and through it all Anthony held on just as tightly, brushing kisses not only upon Loki’s lips but over his cheekbones, his jaw, his throat.

“We don’t have to go back to the ship for a long while yet, do we?” Anthony asked longingly, and with the way he was running his hands down over Loki’s chest there was nothing for Loki to do but throw back his head and groan his agreement. “I’m sure the others won’t mind.”

“They will be fine,” Loki told him, finding his words amongst presses of lips on hot skin. “They will know that I won.”

“Yes,” Anthony said, finally sliding his hands under the dark green shirt and dragging his nails across Loki’s skin. “My hero.”

“I don’t know about hero,” Loki rasped, “but I am _yours_.”

Tony pressed his chuckle into the curve of Loki’s neck, but the laugh soon turned to another open-mouthed kiss, his hands burning a line of fire as they began to pull Loki’s clothes out of order, laces coming undone to expose slow inches of Loki’s skin to the cool air. But then one of Anthony’s hands ventured to the wrong place, and Loki flinched away as fingers pulled too hard over a bruise.

“Oh– shit,” Anthony muttered. He seemed to realise what the problem was immediately, shoving Loki’s coat open and pulling at the remaining ties on his shirt.

It wasn’t _quite_ how Loki had always imagined that Anthony would undress him, but the tenderness in his expression as he examined the injury was far more touching than any physical act could be. His fingers ran so beautifully lightly over the large purple blemish on Loki’s side, evidence of when Clemp’s axe had managed to knock him to the ground. The wound was already healing, but Anthony pressed a kiss to it gently nonetheless, almost reverent in the way his lips brushed along the lines of Loki’s skin.

“You did all that for me,” Anthony whispered. “Every bruise, every cut…” His lips found another, a graze across Loki’s chest. Then he straightened back up to catch Loki’s gaze. “I think I’ll have to find every one, to make sure that they’re healing.”

“ _Every_ one?” Loki tilted his head, still in complete and utter awe that Anthony was there, that Anthony was _his_ , that he _cared_ so very much for Loki that he would be willing to commit himself to such an act.

“Yeah.” Anthony’s smile was soft, and it tasted sweet against Loki’s lips. “Every single one.”

“Oh.” Loki swallowed thickly, feeling any remaining complaint melt away under Anthony’s touch. “Very well then, but…”

“Besides, I don’t believe I’ve thanked you yet,” Anthony said, his smile curling into something closer to a smirk. His hands were exploring again, and Loki’s breath hitched when Anthony’s fingers hooked under his waistband. “For saving me. For _fighting_ for me.”

“I would do it again,” Loki replied, and he knew that he meant it. “If it meant that you were safe… I would do anything.”

“I know,” Anthony whispered, and then he began to sink down, his knees hitting the soft grass as he stared up at Loki with complete and utter adoration. He pressed a light kiss to the sharp edge of Loki’s hip, and then again just an inch lower when he spotted another bruise. “But I don’t ever want you to have to. I need you to be safe as well.”

Those words chimed between the trees like a vow, and Loki felt them echo through his bones like an age-old promise. They made Loki feel treasured, and cherished. And as he stared down at the man that he loved– Anthony on his knees, smirk turned up with eyes so bright, Loki knew that he had won the greatest fight of all.


End file.
